


Scream

by Teawithmagician



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Erotica, Explicit Language, F/M, Het, Prequel, Rough Body Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:25:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6964231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teawithmagician/pseuds/Teawithmagician
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesus loves you, but Satan does the thing you like with his tongue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scream

**Author's Note:**

> Damn! The boy has Billy Idol's style, and Psylocke has killing hips *0* They are meant to be together (the rare moment your otp is f*cking canon).

Psylocke kisses Angel. His lips taste like candy-floss, even his sweat smells with caramel – or they just seem to? You rarely have a chance to take a shirt off an angel. How do they say? Jesus loves you, but Satan does the thing you like with his tongue.

This angel has a body of a god and the eyes of a sinner. When he is drunk – and he is often drunk – he tastes like a Cosmopolitan cocktail. “Wanna more?”, he giggles when Psylocke sucks in his mouth and puts her arm on his groin.

He has eyes like a blue fire. He is not even cunning, he is plain like Psylocke's blade. But blade doesn't need to be curvy like a woman, it only needs to cut. Angel and Psylocke are born the world's most beautiful weapons. No wonder they shiver in scabbards, drawn by each other's shine.

Angel takes Psylocke's face in his arms – such handsome arms with long strong fingers – and kisses her teeth between the open lips. The way he likes it more is the kiss of death, flesh to the bone. His nipples are hard and sharp when Psylocke tears his skin with her long black nails.

“Ahh!”

“You deserve it,” Psylocke licks the blood off his chest. The what she feels between his legs, it grows stronger, it pulls the cloth and it hurts. “There are only one boobs you are allowed to look at. And they are mine.”

“What if I'm not going to spend my life staring at your boobs?”, Angel shoves Psylocke away, and she hits him right in the face, her arm open. Four bright scratches bleed on the face of a saint that drives all the demons wet and crazy.

Angel raises his hand and traces the scars, His skin is so white it glows in the darkness. “You will watch my boobs,” says Psylocke with a silk threat in her voice, putting a hand on his leg, “because my boobs are the best thing happened to you in your entire life.”

“That's a weird way to say you want my dick,” Angel leans forward and grabs Psylocke's belt. He drags her closer, tilting his head back, so Psylocke sees his porcelain neck and tender chin. How does he do it? Rarely changes his shirts but shaves so clean his skin is boy-like smooth.

“I don't want your dick,” Psylocke entwines his waist with her legs and grabs his cheeks, flattening his lips. Such a stupid face he had when she does it before his fans, those creepy mutant-fights wooers. “I want you in the whole.”

“Take both,” mutters Angel and shakes his head, throwing away Psylocke's arm. He falls back and throws his arms behind his head. He is drunk a little, it's hard to understand from what as it's too many empty bottles in a ceiling he considers as a room.

“What did you say?” Psylocke leans over him, running her fingers through his hair and when pulling them – his silk-like cherub hair. Angel tries to hit her with one of his wings, spread-eagled on the mattress, but she stops it with psi-sword.

“Go fuck yourself,” he says, looking at Psylocke with a mix of anger and lust. His wing is still tensed, but he doesn't risk it. He is off his head, but he would never risk his wings against her blade even if he want to make her scream and beg for forgiveness.

Luckily, he has other ways to make her doing that.


End file.
